


Memento Mei?

by brothebro



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Death, Everybody Dies, F/F, Family Feels, Feels, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, God Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Light-Hearted, Love, M/M, Minor Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: Jaskier is the first one to die. This isn’t surprising in the least, the agreed-upon time of his mortal body over, sharp at fifty years of age. Not a day more, not a day less. The exact hour he was born as a human in this world fifty years ago. Even the weather is the same as that day, rainy, autumnal and warm. No doubt his father’s doing.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Cerys an Craite, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 318
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #006





	Memento Mei?

**Author's Note:**

> ♥️ hope you enjoy ♥️

Jaskier is the first one to die. This isn’t surprising in the least, the agreed-upon time of his mortal body over, sharp at fifty years of age. Not a day more, not a day less. The exact hour he was born as a human in this world fifty years ago. Even the weather is the same as that day, rainy, autumnal and warm. No doubt his father’s doing. 

It was a good death. He could feel it coming a month before the fateful day, he could hear his father’s calling louder by the hour. He had plenty of time to get his affairs in order, plenty of time to say goodbye to his loved ones. Ciri, Geralt, Yennefer and even his brothers in law, Eskel and Lambert. 

“I’ll be waiting in front of the granite gates for you my love,” are his last words as a human to his husband of ten years, the one true love of his mortal life. His Geralt, his crying Geralt. He wants to tell him not to be sad but he doesn’t have any time left. 

Jaskier closes his mortal eyes for the last time. 

He’s at the gate of the underworld, his father standing proud before him, a wide smile on his lips. 

“Welcome back, son,” his father says and moves to hug him, “You had a good life.” 

“I did,” Jaskier responds, smiling and reciprocating the hug, “You can take a break now as promised, dad. I’ll lead the underworld in your stead for however long you wish.” 

His father laughs loudly and obnoxiously much like he does, “Now, now son. If you say things like that I’ll never come back to claim the throne. What say you we make it so my vacation lasts as long as it takes the last member of your little mortal family to join us? Deal?” 

That doesn’t sound bad. Sure, the witchers and Yennefer might live for a long time -- a few centuries perhaps-- but what’s a couple of hundred years welcoming and assigning souls to their respective afterlives compared to spending eternity with his loved ones? 

“Deal.” 

* * *

  
Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon dies at the old age of 89 years old. She’s lived a long happy life and she has no regrets. Her last thought is of her wife Cerys, who’s passed not two years ago peacefully in her sleep and of her dearest papa Jaskier who’s she’s missed terribly those many many years she’s spent on the Continent.

She opens her eyes and finds herself on a platform of sorts, a massive granite gate intricately decorated standing before her. Everything else is dark, but not pitch black, a million little stars decorating the darkness akin to the August night sky. 

In front of the gate stands a tall man with a halo, no, it’s not a halo but luminous blinding horns curling up from the sides of his head to his forehead. “Sweetheart,” he calls her in a warm familiar voice she hasn’t heard in more than sixty years, “I’m so proud of you, what a fine person you’ve become.” 

“Papa?” she scrambles closer, closer to the bright horns. She must see his face, she must make sure that’s her papa waiting for her there. “Papa is that you?” 

“Sweetheart, my sweet daughter,” he speaks again and opens his arms for a hug, “Oh how I missed you Zireael! I’m so sorry I had to leave you so soon.” 

Ciri has no doubt this sweet melodic voice belongs to Jaskier, her papa. She moves closer and hugs him taking in his features half-hidden under the horned halo of light. Bright blue -- cornflower blue, familiar -- eyes meet her own emerald. Features she hasn’t seen in half a century looking back at her, still young and fresh as the day she met him for the first time. 

He cups her face with two big hands, bigger than they used to be, and wipes tears she didn’t realize were running from her cheeks. Well, in fact, Jaskier seems different, incredibly tall -- taller than any man she’s ever met. “You’re the gatekeeper to the afterlife,” she says in realization and he chuckles a melodic laugh. 

“Oh please, Cirilla!” he says in mock-offence, his smile still bright and genuine, “I’m more than just  _ the gatekeeper _ ! I’m the lord of this place, always have been. Well, sort of. Technically my dad is the lord and I’m currently the stand-in, for he is vacationing but tomato  _ tomato,” _ he rambles and it’s so Jaskier, so him it warms her heart. “Come now, your lovely Cerys is waiting for you inside.” 

He opens the big heavy door with one hand as if it weighs nothing and leads her inside. 

* * *

The next one to go is, surprisingly, Yennefer. Her chaos was so strong -- too strong -- it finally consumed her whole. It’s a pity. She should have controlled it better, maybe even have listened to Tissaia and locked the damn thing down for good. 

But it’s alright. Even the strongest mage must go at some point. Can’t live forever. 

The important thing is there was no pain, no suffering involved in her passing. She didn’t expect it to be honest but she’s made peace with it. 

And here she is now, before the gates of the underworld. The gatekeeper is sitting cross-legged in front of them, cradling what Yennefer believes is a theorbo -- a giant lute. He’s playing a soft tune, sad but hopeful and when he spots her he rises to his full height, a solid two and a half meters tall and strides confidently towards her. 

It’s only when he’s a breath away from her, crushing her in a tight hug she recognizes him. 

“Jaskier?” she croaks. 

“Oh, you silly witch. I missed you so much! How dare you make me wait for two hundred bloody years!”

Yennefer snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes fondly because it’s so Jaskier to keep a secret that big while babbling endlessly his whole life about everything and nothing. 

“The horns are new,” she remarks smugly, “Geralt will like them, when he deigns to join us,” she winks and him and is delighted to see her friend’s face flushing pink.

“Y-Yen!” he shrieks. 

“Come on Jaskier, won’t you show me inside?” she interlocks her arm with hers and drags him to the gate.

“Should I take you to Ciri, dearest?” he asks.

“That’d be lovely.”

* * *

Eskel and Lambert die at the same time, in completely unrelated incidents, miles apart from each other. It’s sort of impressive, Jaskier thinks, to die at the exact same minute by the same subspecies of gryphons, one at Temeria and one close to Ebbing. 

He’s grateful they didn’t suffer. Neither of them did. Both deaths are quick, painless. They were accidents really, simple slip-ups that cost them their lives. 

Jaskier greets them warmly, a smile always present at his lips. 

“Jaskier,” Eskel calls him, “So this is the afterlife?” 

“Is- is Aiden…?” Lambert asks expectantly, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Yes and yes again,” Jaskier responds, placing a large hand on each of the both witchers’ backs. “Let’s go, Vesemir and Aiden are waiting for you both. Oh! And so is Cirilla and Yennefer. They’ll be delighted to see you. Well, not delighted you both died of gryphons but you know…”

“Can I still distill alcohol in the afterlife?” Lambert asks and Jaskier has to blink a couple of times to understand what the younger wolf witcher is planning. A hobby perhaps? He was notorious for his quest to create the strongest vodka in his life after all. 

“Lambert, what the fuck?” Eskel exclaims. 

“No, no, it’s a completely valid question,” Jaskier rushes to answer, “As you’ll soon learn you can do whatever you want here. Sure, you won't have flesh and bones -- which means no back pain by the way and I think that’s fantastic-- but can still enjoy whatever you found enjoyable in life.”

“Even… you know?” Lambert asks.

“Yes, even sex, Lambs,” Jaskier chuckles and leads them inside. 

* * *

Geralt dies at six hundred and three years old from old age. He has led a full life, had a husband -- however brief his time with Jaskier was he always remained in his heart-- raised a wonderful daughter and had a lovely family. 

He admits that the last couple hundred years were lonely; it’s hard when you’re the last man standing. He outlived even Regis, his one remaining friend in the world (although not by much, only a few months). 

So when he ‘wakes up’, young again, on the granite platform of the entrance to the afterlife he’s relieved. He’ll see his husband again, his daughter, his friends and brothers, his father. 

Geralt sighs in relief. He gets on his feet and trudges confidently to the gate where the gatekeeper lies gazing at the curtain of stars above them. 

“Uh… Hi?” Geralt greets the massive man reluctantly taking in his form, his gaze lingering a bit on the luminous horns that hide his features.

The man flinches and scrambles on his feet, towering a good two feet over Geralt. 

“Geralt! Oh my lovely Geralt! You’re finally here!” the man jumps excitedly. There’s something oddly familiar in the tone of his voice, his accent, the choice of his words. It’s like a dream from another life. And old, almost forgotten life. “You made me wait for so long you brute! How dare you, love? How dare you?” the man points an accusing finger at him. 

“Did I know you?” Geralt asks truthfully and the man shrieks offended. 

“Geraaaaalt! Look at my face. Please, I beg you love, look at it.”

So, Geralt does as he’s told, lifting his gaze to meet the gatekeeper’s eyes. Brilliant cornflower blue meets beastly yellow and something in Geralt’s heart melts. 

Jaskier. 

His Jaskier. He chokes down a sob that’s been bubbling in his throat. 

“Do you still not get it? I know I look a bit different, and you’ve never been particularly good at that. Anyhow, my point is --” Jaskier starts babbling and that brings back fond memories in Geralt’s mind. 

Geralt feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards and he reaches for Jaskier’s neck, tiptoes to reach him better and plants a passionate kiss on his lips. 

“I missed you Jask,” he murmurs a breath away from his beloved’s handsome face. 

“I missed you terribly as well dear heart. Come now, let’s go to our little family.”

Geralt hums and nods, “We deserve a break.”

“We do,” Jaskier agrees, lifting him up for another kiss.

“Look at you, so strong and big,” Geralt says with a lopsided smile, “I like the horns.”

Jaskier chuckles. Oh, how he’s missed the sound of his laughter. “Yennefer said you would.”

Geralt snorts a laugh, “I’m not surprised. She knows me well.”

“One last thing,” Jaskier says, looking back to the platform, “Dad! I’m taking a vacation now!” he yells and a horned man clad in a colourful floral doublet appears among the stars. 

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier’s father waves a hand, “Have fun lads.”

“Oh trust me, we will,” Jaskier smiles smugly and takes Geralt’s hand leading him through the granite doors. 


End file.
